Primeval Origins: Light of Honor (Book 2 in the Primeval Origins Epic Saga)

by Brett Vonsik

  “Don’t take me little one,” the mother screamed her pleas. The Sake ignored her as he continued dragging her “little one” away. The father growled, demanding his youngling be unhanded as he rushed the Sake. They collided at the cell doorway with sharp exhales loud in the room, the momentum of the father pushing them all, Sake, father, and daughter, out of the cell. Aren watched dispassionately as the father struggled to free his daughter from the guard’s grip. The woman-child screamed and cried pleas for her father to help her get free. He fought fiercely for several moments as his wife and the young Tellen both yelled for her to be let go. A crushing hammer of a fist from a second Sake sent the father back against the cell bars with wobbly legs and what Aren assumed were glassed-over eyes. Silence fell upon the room. The second Sake, the biggest and most muscled of the four, grabbed the Baraan father and shoved him back into the cell, adding a kick to his lower back that sent him flying and sounding as if something broke inside him. He landed on his son who was just trying to raise himself off the floor. Both went down in a heap. The groaning mother screamed her despair as the door to their cell shut and locked, keeping her from helping her daughter. The woman-child stood with wide eyes now that she was at the mercy of the Sakes. Aren was pretty sure she would get no mercy.

  Aren struggled to keep his dispassionate air. He found it next to impossible when his eyes locked with the woman-child’s just for a moment. She was terrified but silent, with shock visible in her wide tear-filled eyes. She had a horrified expression that Aren hoped he would never see again. It was haunting. She understood what was about to happen to her, it appeared. Her helplessness and the way she kept control of herself struck Aren, causing him to fight back a swelling urge to yell at the Sakes himself for them to leave her be. The Sakes pulled the helpless woman-child to the only table in the room, bending her over on it and holding her down with several hands pressing on her back, all the while they lewdly and boastfully made remarks about how they and she were going to enjoy what was about to happen. Her wet eyes pleaded for help. She didn’t scream. Instead, a whisper escaped her lips. Aren heard it despite the din and the howls of her mother.

  “Rogaan . . . help me.” The woman-child pleaded.

  “No!” The deep voice of the old Tellen sharply punctuated the din. Then, his tone turned more as a plea, “Rogaan, no.”

  Aren turned to see the young Tellen almost sideways suspended above the floor with his hands in a death-grip on the cell bars and his feet pressed against the locking plate of the cell door. His face was red and in a fury. His eyes gave clue to his inner state that Aren assessed could only describe as a complete bloodlust. Metal cracking rang like a dull bell throughout the room. The Sakes took pause at pulling up the woman-child’s green dress, instead looking to discover the source of the noise. Rogaan strained even harder, if that was possible, and let out a deep growl that sounded like nothing Aren ever remembered hearing. The metal lock to the cell door snapped under its tremendous strain with a deafening crack that hurt Aren’s ears, causing him to wince. The door flew open, slamming against cell bars in a reverberating clang.

  Rogaan righted himself to his feet when the metal gave way. The young Tellen immediately launched himself at the Sakes with a quickness that surprised Aren. Rogaan ran full on into the biggest Sake holding the woman-child. Wrapping his arms around the guard, he drove him backward, slamming him into the stone wall hard enough to jar loose the bricks with a loud clunk. The Sake stood motionless, pressed into the wall as dirt and mortar both fell free from the wall and ceiling above. When Rogaan pushed himself off the wall, the big Sake’s body went limp, collapsing to the floor where he lay unmoving. The other three Sakes stood in stunned surprise for a moment before one of them decided to draw his short blade and swing at the young Tellen. Rogaan ducked the blade and smashed his fist into the Sake’s jaw with a crunch. Aren winched as he guessed the Baraan’s jaw broke at the sound of it and by the way it now hung as he fell backward to the stone floor. His unflinching body hit with a sickening thud that reminded Aren of a melon being smashed on stone. The two remaining guards both drew their blades, but backed away, close to the door near the questioning rack. How Aren hated that thing. The guards appeared uncertain of what to do. Aren smiled. These block-headed jailers were not accustomed to someone able to fight back. Rogaan stood between the Sakes and the woman-child with heated eyes. But he didn’t advance; instead, held his place, protecting the woman-child.

  Shaken and unsteady, she dragged herself off the table before pulling down her torn dress to cover her exposed body. Tears flowed from her eyes as she steadied herself before timidly looking about the room. Her stunned gaze stared off into walls for a few long moments before speaking. “No more, Rogaan. No more.”

  The young Tellen’s eyes questioned what he heard, then cooled, “softening” better described what Aren saw. Rogaan was still visibly angry, but when he spoke to her his voice was soft for a Tellen. “Are you all right?”

  “No . . .” She started crying, weeping uncontrollably.

  Rogaan appeared torn between tending to her and launching himself at the Sakes.

  “My son,” the old Tellen spoke in a deep calm voice. He stood at the broken cell door. “Suhd is wise. Do no more. Put away your fire. I never wanted this for you.”

  The door behind the Sakes burst open, knocking one of the guards to the floor. Filling the doorway stood a dark-haired bulk of a Baraan in dark chest armor. He ducked to enter the room, then stood surveying the chaos with measured, dark eyes. Aren had heard of this one from the Sakes. They feared and revered him all at the same time. He must be the Sake zigaar. The judge . . . and executioner when beyond the walls of Farratum, where laws still mattered and needed enforcing, but where few in the service of the law chose to go willingly.

  “You four are worthless,” the Sake zigaar growled. He stood assessing the situation of the room as if the entire world was his and revolved around him.

  The Sake still standing had forgotten the young Tellen and woman-child completely, turning his back to them, so he could pay respect with a bowed head to the Sake zigaar. “Your forgiveness, Zigaar?”

  The Sake zigaar didn’t waste his breath on the jailer-guard. Instead, he assessed the room again. He walked to the broken cell door, ignoring the old Tellen who stepped back with a measured confidence into the cell, allowing the Sake zigaar access to the door. Four new Sakes, all dressed in armor similar to the Sake zigaar’s, but less well made, filled the room taking up strategic positions at both doors keeping anyone from running off or from attacking their master. They appeared to pay little attention to Rogaan, but Aren guessed they were well practiced in not giving away what they considered important. The big Baraan didn’t appear to need their protection as he continued his inspection of the cell door and bars. The Sake zigaar surveyed everything; the door, the cells, where everyone and everything was, the looks in the eyes of the prisoners, and their body-talk. One of his guards checked the two unconscious Sakes.

  “This one lives,” a dark-clad Sake announced after checking the biggest of the guards lying unconscious against the broken wall. “He took a hard knock. He still has breath.”

  “The other . . . is without his Light,” another of the Sakes added. “His jaw is broken and his noggin looks as a dropped melon.”

  “Bind this one,” the Sake zigaar pointed to Rogaan. He looked over the young Tellen as Rogaan stood between the woman-child . . . Suhd, and everyone else. “Do so and keep him from using his arms. He’s too dangerous for any of you.”

  Two of his Sakes immediately moved to do their master’s bidding, but Rogaan stood and moved to keep them from completing their task . . . and keep them away from the Suhd. After several failed attempts, the Sakes hesitated while considering how to fulfill their duty.

  “Stand down, Tellen,” the Sake zigaar addressed Rogaan. “I’ll punish that young thing you cherish so much if you don’t submi
t.”

  Suhd’s hands took gentle hold of Rogaan’s left arm. He visibly softened at her touch. She then spoke to him in a companion’s tone, “Please. I be all right. I dare believe what he speaks, he’ll do it.”

  “You have kept Suhd from harm, Rogaan,” the old Tellen spoke from his cell in a fatherly manner. “It is time to show strength in other ways than by your brawn.”

  Rogaan seemed uncertain and torn between unfavorable acts. He looked to his father, then to Suhd. Then, after the woman-child hugged herself to his arm, he took a nonthreatening posture with a resigned sigh. Suhd kissed his cheek, causing him to blush. At the Sake zigaar’s command, the dark-clad Sakes wasted no time binding him in metal shackles at the wrists and just above the elbows before escorting him back into the cell where his father quietly stood.

  “Take the youngling female,” the Sake zigaar commanded. “She has looks, too much for all of you and your weak natures. She’s an unwanted temptation, here. Trouble.”

  Suhd’s family and Rogaan verbally protested from their cells. Suhd’s mother started weeping, again, and her father and brother were rattling the cell bars as they yelled threats of retributions. With his father’s hand trying to restrain him, Rogaan protested growling with determined venom in his voice while holding the Sake zigaar’s hard eyes with his own. “Harm her, and I will kill you.”

  Aren found himself split in opinion between feeling sorry for the family and finding their protests and threats ridiculous, if not useless . . . even amusing. The young Tellen looked and sounded serious and determined. Aren decided those two, Rogaan and the Sake zigaar, going at each other would be good for the sheer entertainment of it, but he wasn’t certain who would be the victor . . . though he would wager coin on the Sake zigaar.

  Appearing to ignore the Tellen, the Sake zigaar looked at the two guards lying on the stone floor. “I’m certain you’ll try. Fear for nothing. She isn’t to be harmed or abused by any hand under my command. That’s my word. My bond. My duty.”

  Suhd was ushered out of the room by several Sakes before anyone could make any more protests or threats. She wore a frightened expression, and her eyes spoke of terror almost enough for Aren to feel sorry for her. Otherwise, she held herself controlled despite her helplessness. She locked eyes with Rogaan just before she disappeared from the room. Aren caught their unspoken exchange and realized she held as much affection for him as he had for her. A tragic story, these two.

  More darkly clad Sakes filled the room, replacing the ones that took the woman-child away. They impressed and intimidated Aren with their discipline and efficiency. The failed Sakes that survived the young Tellen’s rage were ordered to remove their lightless companion. As they dragged the body from the room, the Sake zigaar ordered for them to atone for their failures and be disciplined before retesting. Aren didn’t know what they were to be retested for, but the tone of the Sake zigaar and the unsettled looks all the Sakes gave to each other at his order told him the experience would be an unpleasant one.

  “Put the Tellens with that Evendiir.” The Sake zigaar continued giving orders. Pointing at the pair of Baraans cowering in the back of the cell, “And toss those two decrepit things into the pit.”

  Aren watched as the Tellens complied, the young one begrudgingly, with the Sakes prompting them to their new cell. The young one offered little resistance after his father whispered something to him even Aren was unable to hear. The young Tellen made a clinched-jaw grimace, then settled himself. As for the two shaken Baraans, they cowered under the rough handling of the Sakes as they were extracted from the room. Aren briefly wondered what their fates were to be in the “pit,” but then dismissed it all. Not my concern. What was of his concern was the pungent smell of the Tellens. Now that they were in his cell, Aren couldn’t get far enough away from them to avoid their undesired scent. They must not have bathed for days—if ever, Aren guessed. And, well, Tellens just smelled . . . His parents had always instructed him. What more must I endure?

  Chapter 13

  Subar

  Why am I floating? Aren felt weightless. He just didn’t understand how or why. The sensation was pleasant except for the slight pinching of his upper arms. Then he felt his toes burning, but his unresponsive legs kept him from drawing them close, away from the heat. The pain was dull . . . tolerable, but a little uncomfortable. He struggled to understand why the flames didn’t hurt him as they should. Aren tried opening his eyes, but they didn’t feel like his. Whose? A surreal sensation of changing light levels experienced through his closed eyes left his head disoriented. Maybe I dream? Aren thought trying to understand his condition. No. He hadn’t dreamt of anything but those damnable torments of spinning symbols for many nights. Why are they not in my head? What’s happening to me? His eyes opened a little. Blurred cobblestones passed under him. Aren tried to clear his vision by blinking. No change. He felt anxious and started struggling to breathe. His toes burned. He wanted to see what was happening to him, but everything remained a blur. Now, he felt as if supported by his upper arms. The pinching sensation started to hurt . . . burn. Aren glanced sideways finding two big jailers, blurred, who were dragging him through corridors, some of which felt familiar. Where . . . the prison under the arena? He felt a pang of panic grip his throat. What’s happening? Struggling to become fully aware, Aren felt as if waking from a deep slumber. The more he woke, the more he felt the burning pain on his arms and in his toes.

  “Let go of me, you louts!” Aren angrily demanded as he found himself finally able to pull his legs up underneath him and set them at pace with the jailers. Pain spiked through his feet and a sinking feeling grabbed at him for a moment when he saw the tops of his bloodied feet. They stung painfully. Aren aggressively pulled his arms free of the Sake jailers at his sides, managing to keep pace with them after a stumble. They made to grab him again. “Unhand me . . . You slow-witted, smelly idiots!”

  A fist struck Aren’s head sideways, sending him into the wall of the stone corridor they walked. Holding onto the wall to stay upright, Aren shook off the dizzy feeling the jailer had just given him. Anger at his indignant treatment sped up his recovery, allowing him to stand without aid and glare at the lout who struck him.

  “Silence, Evendiir.” The Sake spit his words at Aren. “Speak another word and ya be having troubles eating with no teeth.”

  Aren wanted badly to insult the low-minded jailer but feared having his teeth knocked from him. He kept his contemptuous glare a blaze, but decided holding his tongue would do him better for the moment. The Sake motioned for him to get walking. Aren reluctantly complied as his jailers dispassionately continued their escort seeming satisfied he walked without them needing to prod him along. Aren feared where they led him, and he didn’t know how long they dragged him before he woke. He realized he hadn’t slept so soundly in a long time. He felt refreshed and relieved despite his sore jaw and burning, bloodied toe tops. Looking again at his stinging bloody feet made them hurt all the more so he decided not to think of them, keeping his eyes high as his escorts ushered him through unfamiliar corridors. The prison seemed larger than Aren thought, causing him some concern he may be made lost down here. It must extend beyond the foundation of the arena above, into the surrounding streets, he concluded. Remember the halls . . . for future use. Aren noted markings and significant aspects of his surroundings as the jailers led him deeper into the prison. Turning a corner, they started down another long corridor, this one lined by cells filled with all sorts of the unwanted. All but a few of the imprisoned wore filthy clothes and were offensive to Aren’s sensitive nose. More than some were dressed in what once looked to be well-to-do clothes. Many slept on makeshift beds of various reeds and fronds and other things while others slept on the cold stone floor. Of those who were awake, only a few dared more than a glance at their passing. Aren noted the fear in many of their eyes and how they held themselves. He also noted that all the prisoners looked to be B
araan . . . not an Evendiir, Tellen, or even the foul-tempered Skurst. Strange, given the street talk of the Baraan hating other races, particularly Tellens with their plots, schemes, and secret societies within every corner of the city planning the overthrow of Farratum and Shuruppak. Aren expected more cells to look as his, with a mix of races. Crime on the streets was said to be much of the doing of low Baraans and unseen Skurst, supposedly the poorest and least able to fit into the fabric of civilized life. Observing what was before his eyes, the numbers and economic status of the Baraans jailed was surprising. Why mostly Baraans . . . and of those, most of them looked to have had some coin?

  At the end of the long cell-lined corridor, his escorts led him into a foul-smelling large octagon-shaped chamber with a high domed ceiling and an open pit in the center of the room. Questioning racks were anchored solidly on each of eight walls. Fear froze Aren’s feet in place at the sight of them. The smell of tormented pain and dried blood filled his nose. What’s happening here? What’s going to happen to me? His arms began to ache as he took ahold of himself to keep from shaking. A lone person in shadows almost half the room away on Aren’s left stood near an open door that led to a dark void. Aren guessed the person to be a Baraan male by the size of him. He stood stolidly with hands clasped in front as if patiently waiting. An atmosphere of gloominess surrounded the Baraan, causing Aren to shiver . . . His feet still anchored to the stone where he stood. The Baraan was as tall as Aren, but more heavily muscled. His dark, shoulder-length hair was pulled back tight, allowing his angular features to be accentuated in the shadows cast by torchlight. In those shadows, his eyes seemed voids. Aren shivered again. Am I to be tormented more? Is he my tormentor? Am I to be killed . . . or worse? Dressed in clean charcoal-colored pants and a sleeveless shirt with wide shoulders and a belt sash of black and red, Aren concluded the Baraan to be in a uniform of some sort, though he was unfamiliar with the significance of the livery.